My Gallant Enemy Part 23

Corbett's jaw tensed and he frowned in aggravation. "You make no sense at all. You've reason enough to mistrust her. You know as much as I do about her connections to William and her dangerous knowledge of the king's affairs."

"I know more than you do." Dunn snorted. "But only because I have my wits about me while you've clearly lost yours." Then his tone changed. "She's innocent, Corbett. I've not a doubt in my mind."

There was a long pause as both men stared at the woman and child in the bailey below. "She's a pa.s.sionate woman," Corbett began. Then he halted and slowly shook his head. "She fought me hard because she believed I was her enemy. She imprisoned you when she thought you'd killed her father. She fortified the entire castle against me because she was sure I'd planned Lord Barton's demise."

His face started to relax at that memory but then he stiffened. "If she is with William, then I have to believe she will do everything in her power to help him. And that puts her squarely against my king. And against me."

"What if she is innocent?"

"Then that will be good," Corbett replied slowly.

"Yes, perhaps. But I see you around her. She will not easily forget the strain of these past weeks."

"I make her forget every night!" Corbett snapped, clearly annoyed at this turn in the conversation.

But Dunn was like a stubborn hound worrying a bone, and he would not let it drop. "She was raised a lady and for her that will never be enough. Treat her like some favorite wh.o.r.e and you'll lose this chance to win her love."

Corbett turned his head sharply to view Dunn. "What has love to do with this? I married her for her inheritance. She knows that. Love has never been a consideration!"

Dunn did not reply to Corbett's vehement words. Instead, he turned his attention back to the task of checking the cranking mechanism for the drawbridge. But there was wry amus.e.m.e.nt on his face as he watched Corbett still staring down at his pretty wife.

That night Corbett did not come.

Lilliane lay awake in their shadowy chamber debating what she should say to him and how she should begin her overtures of peace. Perhaps she should broach the subject before they became too carried away by pa.s.sion. Perhaps he would be too exhausted afterward to take careful note of her words.

But then if she approached the subject too early, he might be too distracted by desire to really hear her.

It was a dilemma she debated long and hard with no firm conclusion. But when the fire settled to glowing embers, and the solitary candle sputtered and died, she knew he would not appear this night.

Had he grown tired of her? she fretted. Had the pa.s.sionate hours that had meant so much to her been only a momentary easing of his l.u.s.t for him?

That thought caused Lilliane's heart to tighten painfully. If he did not come ... She closed her eyes against that dreadful thought. But still she could not avoid it. If he did not come tonight ... If he never came again.

She sat up and thrust the heavy coverlet from her. The chill of the room seemed sadly appropriate, and for a moment she was tempted to crawl back into the warm coc.o.o.n of her bed. There she could bury her head and hide from the terrible reality of her life.

But Lilliane fought that cowardly idea and swung her feet down from the high bed to the cold stone floor. She would seek him out, she decided. He had not come to her so she would go to him. She would find him and convince him to come back to their chamber and then ... and then ...

How did you convince a suspicious man to trust you? Or an indifferent one to love you?

She did not know but she was too frightened of a future without Corbett's love to dwell on it. She would just find him and then she would decide what to do.

The castle was still and the silence oppressive. Save for the several servants who slept curled in the rushes before the hearth in the great hall there was no sign of life. It might have been the castle of the legendary sleeping princess that a long-ago minstrel had entertained them with. But in this version it was not a princess who slept, but the prince. And it was up to her to find and awaken his heart with the strength of her true love.

Lilliane was not certain where to begin. Corbett might have decided to sleep anywhere: in the stables on a pile of sweet-smelling hay, on a bunk amid the guards. Perhaps even in a vacant chamber in the keep. She bit her soft inner lip in frustration and wondered if perhaps she was pursuing a hopeless quest. What if she didn't find him? What if he became angry and sent her away from him? How would she ever face him-or anyone-again if he came right out with his rejection of her?

She s.h.i.+vered and a cold lump lodged high in her throat. She could not think like that, she told herself. She must simply find him and then deal with the consequences afterward. For she knew she could not go on in this suspended state any longer.

Outside the night sky was clear, brilliantly lighted by a silver crescent moon. Stars littered the night sky like sparkling gems strewn upon velvet of the darkest blue. The bailey was all silver light and ebony shadows with not a soul about. For a moment she feared that she would be seen, for then she would have to explain her nocturnal mission. But then she remembered that the guards' gazes faced outward. They sought no enemy from within.

Despite her silent search, Lilliane was unable to find her missing husband. Not anywhere in the stables, or in the kitchens or outside storage rooms. The visitors' chambers were as they should be, clean and readied for the coming guests, but vacant.

She was trembling with disappointment. Fighting back tears, she stood in the shadows before the soldiers' quarters. Did she dare to enter there? She took a step forward, then turned away in indecision. It went against everything her mother had taught her. But then she seemed unable to do anything right on that score. She had flagrantly disobeyed her father. She had barred her own husband from his castle. And now she crept through the night like some wanton, searching for a man who did not feel anything for her but occasional l.u.s.t.

Lilliane wiped away two hot tears then turned her gaze up to the sky. Dear G.o.d, she prayed as the brilliant stars swam before her eyes, please help me. Then her vision cleared and she stared at the crenellated silhouette of the look-over. Something had moved there. She squinted, trying to make it out. Had it only been a trick of the shadows, or perhaps her imagination? But then she saw clearly: a man lifted something to his lips.

Lilliane's heart lurched within her chest at the sight. Corbett had been so near, just another flight of steps above her while she lay worrying in her bed. It occurred to her that he must prefer his solitude to her company. But she refused to listen to such depressing thoughts.

The climb up the curving steps to the look-over seemed endless. Yet when she stood before the iron-hinged door, she hesitated. For a moment she considered retreating to the safety of her bedchamber. But other emotions far more powerful than fear drove her on, and after only a brief hesitation she forced the heavy door open.

Corbett was sitting between two high, pointed crenels. One leg dangled from his precarious stone perch. The other was c.o.c.ked as a rest for his arm. He held a round pewter jug in one hand, but he was not drinking now. He only sat there in silence, staring out over the moonlit countryside.

In that moment Lilliane recognized too clearly her husband's unhappiness. Had he been thus when he'd first come to Orrick? She could not say, for she'd not been able to see beyond his powerful image as a knight-and as an enemy. He had been the king's Bird of Prey, and she'd been the prize he'd set out to snare. Well, he had her now, but he'd obviously not found contentment in his victory.

That knowledge almost sent her running away in defeat. Would she ever be able to make him care for her? As she stared at his hard, unmoving profile, it seemed somehow impossible.

She turned away. At the door her fingers were clumsy as she fumbled with the lock. When Corbett spoke to her she shook her head hard, willing him to forget she was there and let her leave quietly with her shattered heart.

But Corbett was as uncooperative as ever, and with a simple command he made her go still.

"Come here."

Lilliane's very heartbeat seemed to stop at his words. More than ever she wished to flee and avoid this further humiliation. But she could not break the hold he had on her that easily. Instead she bowed her head against the weather-beaten door as if it might lend her support.

"I said come here," he demanded more harshly. This time she heard the slight slur brought on by the wine.

Still she did not obey but only stayed where she was, a pale, slender shape trembling against the dark stonework. When it was apparent she would not respond, Corbett left his place between the crenels and crossed the small enclosure to her. Then he turned her sharply and backed her against the rough door.

"Why are you here?" he barked. "But that's a foolish question, isn't it?" His hands tightened on her arms before he released her. Then he braced one hand against the door and leaned nearer. She could smell the wine on his breath, and she knew he'd had much more than on the previous nights.

"You know, you disprove all my theories about women," he began in an unexpectedly amiable tone. Lilliane watched him with wide, wary eyes. She was confused by his odd mood, which seemed to jump from pensive to angry to almost teasing.

"Wives are not supposed to be pa.s.sionate, you know. They only endure their husband's attention out of a sense of duty. 'Tis mistresses who are sweet and responsive." He ran his finger along her cheek then began to toy with her hair. "Too bad you could not have been simply my mistress. How much happier we might have been."

"And you're not happy at all now," Lilliane whispered.

"No more than you. We married because duty bade we must. But lovers ... lovers obey no such duty."

"It was not your duty to marry me. No one forced you into it," Lilliane reminded him reproachfully.

Corbett smiled grimly. "There are many types of duty, Lily-"

"Yes, and having an heir-and something to leave that heir-was your duty," Lilliane snapped, hiding her pain behind anger. "How I wish you had picked someone else."

Corbett's face was just inches from hers. His eyes appeared black as coal and as impenetrable as stone. She tried to turn away from his disturbing stare but his hand, still tangled in her loose hair, prevented her.

"Indeed, it would have been much easier if I could have. All I wanted was a proper little wife. What I got ..." He stopped then he pressed close to her. "What I got was a fiery little temptress. Tell me, Lily, would you have consented to be my mistress only?"

"Oh, you are blackhearted!" Lilliane cried as she tried to twist away from the heated length of his body against hers. "You have only one wicked thought in your head!"

"As do you!" He deftly stilled her frantic struggles. "What reason brought you to seek me except l.u.s.tful ones? You can accuse me of no worse than you are guilty of."

Each word hurt her terribly, doubly so because they were partially true. But she could not admit that to him. Not now when he was finally being honest about his feelings for her.

"I'm guilty of nothing but trying to be a proper wife."

Corbett let out a dark laugh. "A proper wife tends her duties, accepts her husband as her lord, and quietly endures her husband's amorous demands. But not my Lily. You hold me off at arm's length as long as you can and then cry with pa.s.sion until we are both trembling and spent. So which are you, wife or mistress?"

She lowered her thick lashes to hide the tears rising in her eyes. How could she answer such a thing? "I no longer want to fight you," she whispered.

"No," Corbett finally murmured. "You may no longer want to fight me. But then, things have changed."

"No, you have changed," Lilliane accused him shakily. "You are distant. You avoid me. And you wallow in ale and wine every evening."

He seemed a little taken aback by her words. "I have my reasons." He paused and added with a rueful twist of his lips, "Ale provides strength. Wine provides courage."

Lilliane could not take such words seriously. "What have you to fear?" she scoffed furiously. "It is the rest of us who must walk gingerly in fear of your anger or your least whim!"

Corbett's dark gray eyes searched her face for what seemed an endless time. Something grave disturbed him and Lilliane could not fathom the source. Some demon he held inside. But as she stared back, partly frightened, partly fascinated, she saw his expression change.

"Tell me, Lily. Are you frightened of my anger now?"

Lilliane was instantly wary. Something had changed. Some note in his voice, or perhaps the slant of his scarred brow gave her a vague warning.

"Perhaps you're worried about my least whim?" he persisted when she did not answer right away.

"You-you won't hurt me. I know that," she stammered.

"Would that I could be so sure of you," he murmured. But before she could question such an unfair comment, he suddenly dragged her away from the rough wood door. "I have a whim tonight. And I wish you to humor me."

Then he pushed her mantle back from one of her shoulders and fingered the soft wool of her gown. She caught her breath and waited tensely for him to continue.

Finally he spoke in a low, almost tortured tone. "Show me which you are, wife or mistress. Let me see which it is you are to me."

"I-I am your wife, Corbett," she whispered. "Why do you dwell on such foolish thoughts?"

"Why, indeed. Show me," he demanded again.

"I don't know what you want of me!" Lilliane cried in confusion. He was treating her as callously as he might some tavern wench. He was doing it quite purposefully and he was breaking her heart.

"Surely you must know. Your mother could not have neglected such an important part of your training. A wife will always do her husband's bidding, and he has the right to beat her if he does not. A mistress, however, is free to leave her man at any time-there is always another man available. But if she stays, it is for love." His eyes grew narrow as he taunted her further. "You did not love me when we wed. You loved another. Sir William, I believe," he added caustically.

"No, that's not true-"

"And though you were innocent at the time, William now taunts me with his conquest of you."

"He lies! I don't know why-"

Corbett caught her by the wrists and pulled her cruelly to him. "I don't know why he would lie either. He would have to be mad, for I could easily have killed him. Therefore I must believe his words are true."

Lilliane's tears were falling freely. It was hopeless and she knew she had lost him. Truly, she'd never completely had him. But for a while she'd had so much hope. Now, though, there was nothing to hope for.

"My wife. His mistress." His grip tightened and his jaw tensed. "By right I should beat you. I should mark that pale, smooth flesh so that no man would have you again."

"I was never ... never his mistress." Lilliane choked on a sob, closing her eyes against his terrible anger.

At that he released her abruptly and she stumbled back a pace. In the dark, moonlit look-over they faced one another. With one hand she wiped her tears away, then she took a shaky breath.

"I don't know what you want of me-what you want me to be. If I am pa.s.sionate ... if I think l.u.s.tful thoughts, then you deem me guilty. Does this mean you prefer me to be cold and unresponsive?" She shook her head and stared at him with huge, reproachful eyes. "Can't I simply be your wife? Can't you just be content with the pa.s.sion that flares between us without judging me so unfairly?"

Lilliane was trembling from head to toe as she faced him. When he took a step nearer she did not flinch at the anger still smoldering in his eyes. He reached out and gathered her thick, loosened tresses into his hands. Then he pulled her hair back so that her face was turned up to his.

His eyes traveled from her tear-filled eyes down to her lips, then further along the vulnerable length of her throat to where the neckline of her gown covered her.

"Then show me," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "Show me you can be both wife and mistress."

With those wrenching words Corbett lowered his head and took her lips in a hard, domineering kiss. He held her rigidly so that her arms were pinned between them, and at first she was too startled to respond. But if his anger was a terrible wild fire burning everything in its path, it quickly escalated into an inferno of pent-up pa.s.sion that she had no defense against. Like one unable to resist the very thing that must consume her, she yielded to the harsh demands he made of her. As if none of what had gone before mattered, she became a soft foil for his unrelenting hardness.

Corbett groaned deep in his chest as she caught the wool of his tunic in her fists and clutched him to her. He seemed to be a man in agony as he raised his lips from hers, then took her face between his hands and forced her head back. His eyes were as black as the night yet within them Lilliane saw the terrible doubts that racked him.

"Show me, Lily," he muttered hoa.r.s.ely. "Show me how a woman comes eagerly to her man. Entice me." He groaned and took her lips once more. "Make me believe it."

He doubted her. He would always doubt her, Lilliane realized, and a sob rose in her throat. Yet even that all-consuming sorrow could not stifle the flames he stirred in her. A part of her knew it was hopeless. And yet she wanted to believe-even if she was only fooling herself-that he loved her. At least this one last time. He needed her in some desperate private way, and although it was not love, for this moment she would pretend it was.

As she rose to him her sob was lost in a kiss that wrenched her very soul. "I love you, Corbett. Oh, I do," she whispered as he backed her against the crenellations. They were not words she meant for him to hear, and once said they could not be taken back. But she could not tell if he'd heard her, and, indeed, as she began to drown in the dizzying rapture of his kisses, she ceased to care.

Lilliane lost all connection with time and place as Corbett drew her deeper and deeper into a splendid delirium fired by pent-up hunger and intense desire. She wanted him with a fierceness that shook her to her very core.

Corbett wedged his knee between her thighs most intimately, heating her with his aggressive possession of her. One of his hands cupped her breast most sensually while the other arm supported her as he bent over her between the heavy crenels. Lilliane's arm encircled his neck, one holding his head down to hers, the other clutching at his wide shoulders.

She could have succ.u.mbed to him then and there, in the dark night against the cold stone walls of Orrick. But even as she became more and more pliant and began to press herself most wantonly against him, she felt him pulling away.

Frantically she clutched him, willing him to stay. But though his lips clung to hers, and his tongue met hers in a hot, erotic dance, she could not make him stay.

Lilliane was in complete disarray. Her skirt was hiked up, baring her legs, her dress was loose at one shoulder, and her hair was a wild tumble in the chill wind. She was partially leaning back in the s.p.a.ce between the crenels where he'd been sitting before and she knew she looked the complete wanton. But if that was what he wanted of her ...

Corbett was breathing hard. His expression was wary as he stepped farther away from her. Then his eyes moved slowly over her, and she blushed at the thoroughness of his perusal. Shaking as much from pa.s.sion as from the departure of his warmth from her, she struggled to rise. When she was upright she shook out her skirt and tried to refasten her mantle. But she could not raise her gaze to Corbett's face for fear of the condemnation she would see there.

When he finally spoke his voice was an unfamiliar rasp as if he grappled with his words. "This is not what I want," he said, and Lilliane felt as if a cold fist had tightened around her heart. Then he rubbed one hand along the scar on his forehead. "It's not enough for you to respond to me, Lily. I want you to show me your pa.s.sion."

At her look of utter confusion Corbett took a slow, shaky breath and looked away from her. "Shall I be crude and tell you precisely what I want of you?"

Comprehension dawned on her in a sudden flash. Her belly tightened at the knowledge that he wished her to become the aggressor, the one to initiate their lovemaking. It was such a happy realization that she could not help but smile. "Oh, Corbett, I tried to do this very thing that last night in London, but you-"

"Don't speak to me of London," he cut in abruptly as his eyes pinned her to her spot. "Don't ever speak to me of London. Just do as I ask."

Lilliane had to bite her lip to prevent herself from crying anew. In some ways he wanted her so badly, just as she wanted him. But in other ways ...

She pushed one wind-driven lock from her brow as she tried to compose herself. In other ways he seemed determined forever to keep her at arm's length.